


Brows, lashes, lips. Frame the face.

by soniclipstick (veriscence)



Series: Kindergarten 'verse [2]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Deaf Clint Barton, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 12:31:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3381611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veriscence/pseuds/soniclipstick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This looked so much easier when the lady at <em>Lush</em> did it." Skye mumbles, her lower lip quivering. A single tear begins to make its way down her cheek and Clint automatically brings a hand up to wipe it from her face. "I look awful, daddy."</p><p>Now more than ever, Clint is glad he learned to do stage makeup for the dancers and acrobats in the carnival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brows, lashes, lips. Frame the face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to CallipygianGoldfish for an outstanding beta job as always. 
> 
> This is part 2 of my kindergarten verse, it was inspired by Jeremy Renner's make-up advice for women, which was, I quite directly from the Ellen episode: "Brows, lashes, lips. Frame the face. It's simple. 5 minutes. In and out."
> 
> This is set nearly 10 years after A is for Archer, Skye is 13 and entering the marvelous and confusing world of make-up.

"Breakfast is on, beautiful family!" Clint calls out from the kitchen on a bright spring Saturday morning. He plates the eggs, setting them on the table to flip a pancake. The other pan is finally hot enough so he throws some fakon on that (Clint is hiding the real bacon for until after Skye leaves for Model UN). There are only so many indignant tirades about reducing one's carbon footprint that Clint can handle. He's buying local foods and free-range organic local poultry, and Skye has all the support in becoming vegan, but there is no way he's giving up meat.

Heh. Meat.

 _Head out of the gutter, Clinton,_ he scolds himself. He really has no one to blame but himself though. Between a night course for his graduate degree and archery tournaments at the rec centre, he hasn't had a few hours alone with Phil in weeks. But it's Saturday morning, he has no course work, and he's going to worry about his thesis another day. Today, he wants to feed his family, take Skye out for new shoes and then spend the evening, as well as possibly a long part of tomorrow morning, in bed with Phil.

He's transferring a pancake from the pan when cold hands wrap around him from behind, and soft lips press against the back of his neck. However familiar the action has become over the years, his stomach tangos when Phil touches him. He welcomes it. "Good morning," Phil says. Clint turns himself around to face his husband, catching Lucky batting at the food dispenser from the corner of his eye.

"Good morning," Clint says, biting his lip in a vain effort not to giggle. Phil's hair is standing in every which direction. His cheeks are a healthy pink, and his glasses have fogged over. Clint pulls the glasses away and tucks them into Phil's shirt pocket. "How was your walk?"

"Nice. It's still chilly out." Phil answers, leaning in to steal a kiss. Clint smiles into the chaste motion, fingers hooking into belt loops to draw him closer. "And you're wearing far too many clothes for my tastes," Phil complains against his mouth.

Clint pulls away with a laugh. "I try not to flash our teenage daughter, thank you very much," he says before bringing his hands up to pat down Phil's hair. He _really_ needs a haircut. They've just been so busy lately, it feels like nothing's getting done. "Now get out of my way, we're running late." Plating the pancake, he passes the dish to Phil and waves at him to sit down.

"The romance is gone." Phil grumbles, but takes the plate. Clint laughs out loud at the sudden rush of fondness in his chest.

"Never," Clint pulls him in for a kiss. Phil tastes like fresh mint. "I love you, but sit the hell down."

"Do we have any bacon?" Phil asks as he complies with Clint's hand waving.

"Hush! No, we have fakon!" Clint says a little louder than necessary. Silently, he signs, " _Wait until she leaves, baby."_ Phil rolls his eyes and Clint shrugs as if to say, _what do you do?_ "Skye blue, your Aunt Melinda is going to be here any minute, and you know how the twins are like when you run late!"

"I know, I know! I'm coming!" Skye calls back, but there's panic in her voice. Phil and Clint trade raised eyebrows.

"You eat, I'll go see what's up," Clint tells Phil. He turns around to head upstairs, and nearly trips over. "Dammit, Pizza Dog," Clint shoos him away and heads towards Skye's room. The door is closed; Clint knocks and waits. "Can I come in?"

"Skye bird, is everything okay?" he asks carefully.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she sniffles, giving the perfect impression of exactly the opposite of fine. "I'll come down soon."

"Are you sure? Can I come in?" Clint asks again.

There's a pause and then a muffled, "Okay, but don't laugh."

"Promise," Clint says before walking in and closing the door behind him. Skye is sitting in front of her dressing table with her back to him, but the mirror gives away the secret. Now more than ever, Clint is glad he learned to do stage makeup for the dancers and acrobats in the carnival. Clint slowly comes to sit beside her on the bed adjacent to the dressing table. She finally turns to him, presenting her smudged eye shadow and horribly crooked eyeliner.

"This looked so much easier when the lady at _Lush_ did it." Skye mumbles, her lower lip quivering. A single tear begins to make its way down her cheek and Clint automatically brings a hand up to wipe it from her face. "I look awful, dada."

"Oh Skye bird," Clint takes her hands in his, suddenly mad at the whole world for bringing tears to her eyes. But that won't help Skye right now, so he stows away his anger and breathes in and out. "You're absolutely beautiful. Make-up just needs practice, that's all. Do you want a hug?"

"I'll get it all over your shirt." She says dispassionately, as if some t-shirt would be more important that her comfort.

"It's just a shirt. Come over here," he stands up and holds his arms open. She clutches at him, burying her head in the crook of his shoulder. Whether it's something big or small, when his little girl hurts, it's a thousand times worse that being stabbed. Clint just holds her, pressing his lips against the top of her head as she grasps her bearings. Skye sniffs once more and slowly pulls away, looking at her feet. Clint puts a finger under her chin and lifts her chin until she's looking up at him, streaks of black running down her olive skin. "Alright kiddo, this ain't so bad. Where's the make-up remover?"

"We didn't get any because it wasn't vegan, remember?"

"Right. Not to worry. I'll just run down and get some olive oil, okay?" He asks.

"Okay." She says, but clutches tighter at his hand.

"Hey, we can fix this, I promise!" He reassures her, prying his fingers free from her grip. He turns away and strides back out of her room, taking the stairs two at a time on the way down.

Phil's reading the newspaper and looks up as Clint flies past him. "Everything okay?"

"Yep, no worries," he tells Phil before grabbing the olive oil and running back up the stairs.

"The thing you have to remember about make-up is that a little goes a long way, baby," Clint tells Skye while using a cotton cloth to wipe away the running makeup. They're settled on the bed now, sitting across from each other. "The trick is to make it look natural."

"How come you know so much?" She asks, fingers tensely gripping at her skirt.

"Some acts in the circus used makeup," he answers. Then decides to change the subject. The older Skye gets, the more she understands that growing up in the circus hadn't been as happy and fun as it had sounded when she was a four year old. Clint believes in transparency but at the same time, he doesn't want his little girl to grow up just yet. "How about I quickly do your make-up before Aunt Melinda gets here? I'll teach you when you come home, okay?"

Skye nods and Clint quickly walks over to the dressing table to grab some supplies and sits beside her again. "Brows, lashes, lips. Frame the face. It's simple. Five minutes. In and out," he says as he applies the make-up carefully. A little bit of definition to the brows, some white eyeliner on the lower eye line. "Look up, baby." Just a touch of mascara, and a dash of lip gloss. "There, all done."

"What about the powder?" She asks, holding up the case.

"Nope. I should have taken you to _Lush_ , not daddy. You're fourteen. You have gorgeous skin, why do you need foundation or powder?" he asks with a tilt of his head. Oh, what a waste of money.

"But I'm getting pimples!"

"Honey, foundation over pimples will make you break out even more. Sure, use it for a special day, but don't suffocate your skin every d-" he's interrupted by the intercom ringing.

"Auntie Melinda!" Skye jolts up. "Leo's going to be sooooooooooo mad! I ran late last time too!"

"Better hop to it then, Skye blue."

He follows her down the stairs, grabbing the forgotten backpack. Phil meets them at the open main door, holding peanut butter toast. Skye kisses him on the cheek, taking the toast before slipping her feet into flats. "Thanks dad, oh- backpack!" She turns around just as Clint hands it to her. Clint waits for her to sling the backpack onto her back before holding out his arms. She rushes into them and snuggles into his neck for a moment.

 _God_ she's growing so tall.

"Do I look okay?" She whispers into his chest.  

"You look beautiful," he tells her as she pulls away and walks into the open elevator. "Have a nice day, blue."

Clint finds arms wrapping around his stomach and chest, and Phil's familiar warmth against his neck. "Be careful, and-"

"Never forget that you love me, daddy, I kn-" the elevator closes even as Skye speaks. Clint turns himself around in Phil's arms, kisses the exasperated smile away.

"Now, where were we?" Clint asks. He brings his own arms tightly around Phil and bumps noses with him.

"Bacon?"

"God, yes. Bacon."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
